Works
by Sharon Bates and Paul MiyamotoAlbany
Center Galleries, Through July 12

In real life, these two artists are married. And apparently
that relationship—and not a compelling affinity in the nature
of their artwork—is the reason former Albany Center Galleries
director Sarah Cunningham selected them as co-exhibitors.
Not that it’s the first time an exhibit has been organized
based on family ties. The question is, does it work? The gallery
space is divided, with Bates’ work on one side and Miyamoto’s
on the other, and the first impression is of two separate
worlds: one half humor, poise, and compressed energy, the
other half a dreamy desolation. The response of the casual
viewer might be something along the lines of, “These two artists
are married?!”

Sharon Bates’ work suggests vivid, old-fashioned words like
verve and moxie. The 12 gouache paintings use a similar format.
A central shape, often predominantly black or white, is collaged
onto a bright, densely patterned ground. Their heavily outlined
forms vibrate against the complex field with the intensity
of an Indian miniature. These shapes are singular, simple
and bold, sexily curvaceous, and suggestive of all sorts of
things, from a spinning top to the Jetsons’ coffee table to
a loaded water balloon. Like portraits of alien ancestors,
they stare you down with a coiled energy and a challenging
esprit de corps. But ultimately they are indefinable, not
quite one thing or another. They throw a bone to the rational,
analytical mind, but ultimately confound it, and that makes
them a delight.

This fascination for form is also evident in Bates’ five sculptures.
These use found objects—a wicker basket, a bowling pin—to
create droll, lively assemblages, free-standing and grouped
like convivial party goers. They look like hybrids of capricious
furniture and exotic flower forms. As in the paintings, their
varied surfaces are obsessively covered with vivid color and
pattern. (Now, however, this brings faux-finishing a little
too quickly to mind.) While captivating, I found the sculpture
less effective than the two-dimensional work. What attracts
me most in Bates’ work is the strong sense of shape and line.
In the sculpture, the feeling is, “This is the shape I found,
here’s what I’ll do with it.” It is engaging to see the results,
but I miss the clarity and decisiveness of the paintings,
the feeling of exactitude: “This is the shape I want.” That
singular precision carries the day.

Paul Miyamoto’s 11 monochromatic paintings repeat the same
three or four images with the obsession of a recurring dream:
smooth water flowing to a sudden, precipitous, and absolutely
vertical drop, strange clouds overhead. The vast Niagara Falls-scale
of the imagery suggests the presence of a universal truth;
but, painted from things seen in the mind rather than nature,
the images also feel personal and idiosyncratic. Gray Trough
depicts an impossible scene, water running from all directions
into an elongated and bottomless abyss; it has a surreal humor,
but also a frightening, almost seductive vertigo. Its narrow
range of grays are restrained, gloomy, but poetic. The largest
painting, Red Water w/ Glass and Shelf, presents a
body of water parted in a chasm extending to the horizon line.
In a DuChampian move, an actual glass of water is placed on
a metal shelf bisecting the painting, like a deadpan stand-in
for Christ parting the Red Sea. It’s not clear that the water
glass is an effective gambit, but it may be due to the painting
itself. Miyamoto’s larger works feel less true, somehow; the
brushstrokes retain the same scale throughout, becoming generalized,
almost automatic, and losing the specificity of the image.

Water, water, everywhere . . . what is it with all the water?
Obviously it’s a potent force of nature, and rich with metaphor;
beyond that, it’s not clear what the artist intends, and it
doesn’t matter. They are moody paintings, but it’s a stylized
mood, an old-fashioned, sailors-take-warning dread, with an
ample dose of black humor as well. (And not a drop to drink.)
There’s a suggestion of a doomed comic hero right around the
bend, about to be swept over the falls, Buster Keaton paying
a visit to Wuthering Heights.

It seems potentially frivolous, gratuitous, to organize a
show based on the relationship of the exhibitors. But in the
end, I like seeing the work of these two artists together.
There is a kindred sensibility beneath the surface differences.
They share a profound pleasure in the craft of making art,
without excessive conceptual underpinnings. More than that,
they share a willingness to surrender entirely to a land of
invention, and an ardent pursuit of that land.

This
fall Albany Center Galleries celebrates its 25th (silver)
anniversary with an exhibit featuring silverpoint drawings,
gelatin silver prints, and sculpted silver. The institution
has seen many changes since founding autocrat and advocate
Les Urbach passed away, and now carries on in a modestly
suitable but temporary space on the second floor of
the Albany Public Library. Gallery Director Pamela Barrett-Fender
says a serious search for new digs is underway. Hopefully
that is a reflection of the durability of an organization
that has been a consistent venue for regional art over
the past 25 years.